Isenulf
by chaos Leader
Summary: A mysterious new force arrives from across the Great Norther Sea. Are they the greatest threat ever to be leveled at Redwallers? Are they a great opportunity? Or are they both? They will need to find out quickly if they are to address the matter, before it all goes out of hand, before good beasts die needlessly. chaos Leader presents a Redwall Tale: Isenulf


**Isenulf**

_**Prologue**_

A thick fog lay all around the Brinecleaver, a fine little ship if ever there was one. The crew on deck were all uneasy, shuffling about and uncertain of what to do next, all except Skipper Bicdent Wavedog that is. The brash otter, young for a Skipper, had one hand on the Brinecleaver's wheel, and his sharp eyes peered through the fog ahead.

The otter and his crew were tracking a notorious corsair vessel through these waters, one of a small score that had been harassing shipments bound for and from Riftgard Fortress. It was a fairly routine task, as new waves of corsairs always sprang up with the new seasons. The vermin never seemed to learn: always underestimating the resolve of those who protect Riftgard, and who patrol the sea routes. Nevertheless, having secure routes to Salamadastron and up the river Moss was of vital importance to Riftgard for trade and communication. Thus it fell to brave beasts like Skipper Bicdent Wavedog and the crew of the Brinecleaver to fend off the pirate vermin, and keep the waters safe for others.

The ship's bosun, another otter who was older and weathered named Lysen, approached Bicdent with glum downcast eyes. "I think we may have lost 'em, Skipper," Lysen said with a sigh, "There's no way to track those filthy searats through this fog, even for you."

"You don't think sniffing the air for their stink is enough?" Bicdent asked, giving the bosun a sidelong glance.

"This is no time for idle banter!" the other grunted in disgust, shooting him a fierce glare.

"Don't get your britches in a knot, Lysen," Skipper Bicdent replied with a confident chuckle, "I know these waters like the back of my own paw. We're still in this, and we'll catch those searats in good time."

"And how do you figure that, Skipper?" Lysen asked, obviously unconvinced.

"When you know the waters as well as I do, it's less a matter of actually tracking them, and more figuring where they'd go, what decisions they'd make, and intercepting them on their way there," Skipper Bicdent explained, "It's like I've always said, Lysen: to catch a sereat, you have to think like a searat."

The older otter simply sighed and shook his head. Then Lysen looked toward Bicdent Wavedog, ready to give a reply, when he was cut short by another voice shouting, "Skipper!"

It was another crewbeast of the Brinecleaver. He was at the front of the ship, waving back to the two otters.

"You see? I'd wager we've found them already," Skipper Bicdent said to the bosun with a smirk, and stepped away from the wheel, "Take the helm, Lysen. Keep her slow and steady."

Lysen obeyed the order with cordial "Aye, Skipper."

An upwelling of excitement surged through Bicdent Wavedog as he walked across the Brinecleaver's deck, toward the crewbeast that called for him. The rest of the crew must've felt it too, as they all were quietly chattering amongst themselves, relieved that something was actually happening on what had thus far been a painfully dull shift this evening.

As the otter arrived at the ships bow, he heard –and felt– a hollow _clonk _as something struck the Brinecleaver's hull. Bicdent quickly looked over the side, and spotted the offending object floating by: a barrel...

"In the water, skipper, up ahead..." the crewbeast said in a chilly grim tone, now right next to Bicdent, and motioned forward ahead of the Brinecleaver.

There was more debris now; broken planks, battered crates, lengths of rope and a tackle block. Then amongst the floating detritus came another item: a corpse, floating face-down in the cold seawater below. One of the other crewbeast had gotten a hook and reached over the side for the body. When the hook caught and he pulled it up though, he found there was only part of a corpse: a rat, cut in half at the waist, missing his lower torso and legs entirely.

The crewbeast nearly dropped his hook at the sight, saying in uncomfortable awe, "Bugger it all! What could've done this?"

"Maybe a badger," another crewbeast supposed, "but I dunno of any ship in these waters with a badger on their crew."

A cold gust blew through the thick gray mists, and Skipper Bicdent Wavedog felt his blood chill at the bite of the wind...

"Ship ahead! Ship ahead!" the lookout at the bow shouted, jarring the Skipper a little at the suddenness of it.

When Bicdent peered ahead where the lookout had pointed out, what he saw only made him more uncomfortable, more weary and uncertain. There _was _a ship ahead, its silhouette barely outlined though the fog, but it was broken. It seemed to have run aground against a reef, with its mast broken and toppled over. Still, the quietness of the wreck only unsettled the Skipper, and the crew along with him judging by their own silence...

"Drop anchor! Make a boat ready!" the Skipper shouted, and the crew immediately hustled to work around him to carry the orders out.

Amidst the activity and clamor of the work, Bicdent was oddly solemn and dour, in stark contrast to his confident, almost carefree demeanor before. The Skipper simply gazed out ahead, at the dead husk of a ship that lay before him, and wondered what might've caused it, if it might still be out there...

As the crew were finishing up, Lysen approached the younger otter, full of concern, and asked, "I ain't ever seen you this spooked before, Sipper, not since you was a wee little lad."

"There's something wrong here, Lysen, something very wrong," Bicdent said folding his arms over his chest, "Even vermin sereats know better than to sail this close to a dangerous shore, especially if they're regular pirates that know these waters. Their captain is a cleverer beast than that. Something _made_ them do this. And then there's the half-corpse in the water..."

"Don't trouble yourself more than need-be. You'll be on that wreck soon enough, and you'll find out what happened." the older bosun reassured his troubled Skipper, "For all we know, they may have just run aground and abandoned ship. Accidents happen to everyone."

"Maybe..." Bicdent replied with a shrug. In the time they had spoken, the crew had dropped the anchor and prepared a boat to be lowered into the water below. Seeing this, the skipper patted the bosun on the back, saying, "Mind the ship while I'm gone," and started to the boat.

The transition from the anchored Brinecleaver to the wreck itself was relatively uneventful, if somewhat tense. A small handful of crewbeast volunteers had joined their Skipper to investigate, all of them a little anxious, but dutifully pressed on nonetheless. One of the crew, in between oar strokes, had unstoppered a small flask and took a swig of some drink to calm his nerves. Bicdent could hardly blame him –they all felt it– and the Skipper briefly considered asking to take a drought for himself, then thought better of it. Skipper Bicdent Wavedog needed to be a cool-headed example to his crew, and a drink simply wouldn't do, not at this time...

Once they'd found a suitable spot next to the shipwreck, one of the crew tied off the boat, and they disembarked. It was only a short climb up the side of the wrecked hull, and they were on the lopsided remains of the corsair ship's deck.

Once Skipper Bicdent and his crew had a clear view of the deck, it became clear it was no accident that befell the corsairs. A few limp corpses of rats and other vermin lay limp over the side of the askew wreck, while others lay sprawled on the deck. Some bodies were without heads, while others were split open at the gut and spilled out entrails, and others still were crushed into the deck, with the boards splintered and snapped beneath them. All of them, those that still had faces, bore a ghastly look of terror, frozen from their last moments...

"Check the ship," Bicdent ordered in a muted tone, "look for survivors."

A muffled chorus of "Aye Skipper," followed, and the crew dispersed. Some went below, and some remained on deck. Bicdent himself stayed topside, and took a closer look at the damage.

There were a number of deep gashes in some of the wood, like a heavy blade had cut through them. The mast itself was an especially frightening case, with an entire wedge missing from the side where it had collapsed, as if it were chopped down like a tree felled for timber. A blow from a weapon had done that, a very large weapon, swung by a strong arm.

At once, Bicdent's investigation was cut short by shout of, "We got a live one, Skipper!" from one of the crew.

It came from nearby, on the deck, and the crewbeast waved for his Skipper to approach, which the otter obliged. The crewbeast was kneeling down next to one of the vermin searat bodies, which for all intents and purposes appeared as dead as all the rest. Upon closer inspection however, his chest was barely moving up and down with breath. Then the rat slowly opened his eyes, and gazed glassy-eyed at the crew surrounding him.

"So," the vermin uttered in weak, hoarse voice, "I ain't dreaming then..."

"M' afraid not." Bicdent replied with a shake of his head.

"I thought I was in a nightmare. I thought I'd wake up in me bunk–" the searat stopped, wracked by a fit of coughs, which must've had a good deal of blood, "I in't gonna last much longer, am I?"

Seeing this helpless dying creature, despite the fact he was vermin, Bicdent couldn't help but take some measure of pity on him. Whatever it was that struck him and his corsair crew, nobeast deserved a gruesome fate such as this. The Skipper motioned to one of his crewbeast, the one who'd taken a drink earlier, who understood instantly what Bicdent wanted, and gave him the flask.

Once the otter had the flask –still about half-full it seemed– he handed it to the searat, saying, "Here, drink up, and tell me what did this."

The rat took hold of the flask, and with the help of Bicdent, raised it to his quivering muzzle and took a long drought of the contents. Satisfied as he could be in his state, the vermin spoke, pausing at times for breath, or for another round of coughs, "They was on us... sudden as a bout of summer hail... tall and dark as thunderclouds-a-grumblin', swift an' strong as a howling hurricane gale, strikin' blows like the crash-a-lightnin'... never stood a chance..."

"Who was it?" Bicdent asked, an urgency growing in his voice, "What sort of beasts attacked your ship?"

The rat gave what might've been a chuckle, or a wheezy gurgling cough, and finally answered the otter's question, "Ye won't... believe me anyway, but... they was _wolves..._"

Before Bicdent could react, or ask another question, or even call the beast out for lying, the searat gave one last sputtering gurgle, and went limp on the deck of his broken ship. The otter's instincts knew for a fact that the vermin must've lied; they always did. Yet his mind couldn't ignore the evidence of the ship, the fierce blows that had to have been struck, the ruthlessness of the attack...

A distant rumble of thunder rolled across the misty gray sky, and a gust of bitter cold wind blew across the sea, sending a shiver up the otter's spine.

"We need to leave, Skipper," one of the crewbeast said, "Storm's on its way."

* * *

The room designated as the Recorder's Study in Riftgard Fortress was a bit spartan as far as academic standards were concerned, but that was to be expected in Riftgard. The structure was built as a citadel first and foremost; a fortress in the truest sense of the word. The walls were thick, the stones hard, and what few windows there were amounted to little more than arrow slits. The rest of the room was crammed with shelves stuffed with books and scrolls, with a writing desk in one corner, and a meager lounge –a table and a few chairs– in another.

It was in this lounge that Skipper Bicdent Wavedog had just finished recounting the tale of his latest patrol earlier that day to the Riftgard Recorder, Lefsera. She was an older mouse with mottled brown fur, showing gray in several patches.

The Recorder had listened intently all the way through Bicdent's recitation, and finally spoke up at the end of it, "And you actually _believed_ that filthy vermin?"

"A dyin' beast's got nothing to hide, vermin or not." the otter said with a firm nod.

"He could have been delirious from his injuries." the old mouse supposed

"I don't doubt that he was, and I didn't take him at his word alone, no sir." Bicdent affirmed with an adamant shake of his head, "I don't want to believe him any more than you do, that it was wolves, but I reckon there was _something_ that wrecked that ship good. The signs of battle were clear as day to me, and their enemy didn't leave any casualties of their own. It wasn't a battle, no, but a _slaughter._"

"It's dire, I'll grant you, but it's not enough." Lefsera declared in a concerned tone, "We need more information. A dying vermin's testimony and circumstantial evidence just isn't definitive."

"Then what _would _be definitive?!" the otter demanded, standing up from his chair at the table, "When we start losing more ships?! When the Brinecleaver is a broken wreck with me and my crew slain?!" in a bout of anger, Bicdent slammed his fist down on the table with a heavy _thump_, "This is all we have!"

"Yes, it's all _we _have..." the old mouse said with a sly twinkle in her eye, "The chronicles here don't date back very far, only since the slaves were freed by Trisscar Swordmaid, and I've never read any mention of wolves in them. However, the chronicles stored in Redwall Abbey date back hundreds of more seasons. If there's any information to be found, that's where it would be."

Energized by the prospect of action, "Then what are we waiting for? I can have the Brinecleaver ready to sail by dawn!"

* * *

Isenulf awoke to a calm morning, thanked the guiding stars for it. He was a relatively average-built wolf, at least compared to the other wolves present, and the youngest member of the party. Many of the other members of the party were still asleep, indulging in well-deserved rest, while others were already awake and active about the longship.

Isenulf went to open his pack to find his rations for breakfast, and heard Rukal shout out, "Isenulf! Bring me the captive!" the younger wolf sighed and set his pack down. Breakfast would have to wait.

Rukal was the party leader: a grizzled older wolf who wore a heavy cloak over his leather-and-ringmail armor, and possessed a fierce gaze and commanding voice that compelled obedience. He was at the rear of the longship, with one strong paw on the rudder, waiting for Isenulf to carry out his order...

The captive in question came from the attack on the rat-and-weasel vessel the night before. It was nothing; a butchery of the weak that was over and done with in a matter of minutes. The party had left no survivors, save one: the prisoner now carried aboard the longship. He was a small, weak weasel who was gagged, blindfolded, and bound to the longship's mast. Supposedly he was the ship's captain, but no more. His ship lay in broken pieces, and his crew slain all too easily by the party's hands.

Keeping the weasel's hands bound together, Isenulf detached the vile little creature from the mast, carried him to the stern of the longship where Rukal waited, and set him down on his knees before the party leader.

The older wolf gave a firm nod to Isenulf, then knelt down to weasel's level and removed the blindfold, revealing a defiant pair of eyes. Then Rukal took the gag away, and the weasel instantly shouted out, "Ye think I can be intimidated by ye thuggish brutes?! I'll never tell ye where I've stashed me plunder, _never–_" with a satisfying _thump, _Rukal shut the annoying little creature up with a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of him and leaving the wretched creature writhing in his pain.

"We have no interest in your plunder." Rukal informed the weasel in a deep, calm voice, and drew a large knife from his belt, "However, if it is so precious to you, if you want a chance to live and see it again, you will answer one simple question, and answer it completely."

Once the weasel was upright again, he took the opportunity for an act of pure spite, and spat in the wolf's face. There were a number of cries of outrage from the party, some wolves even drew their weapons, Isenulf included, but Rukal was hardly fazed at all. Not even bothering to wipe the spittle from his muzzle and forehead, the grizzled old wolf simply hoisted the weasel up by the back of his shirt collar, slammed him against the rear of the longship, and jammed his knife into the wood through the creature's shirt collar with a heavy _thunk!_

The weasel was left dangling over water, hands bound, with nothing but Rukal's knife pinning him to the ship to keep him from falling. Without breaking his steady cool, the older wolf impressed upon his captive the dire straits of his situation, "The longer you wait and the more you struggle, the more the blade will cut through your shirt. After that, your fate lies in the cold, merciless hands of the sea."

At that, Rukal simply turned and walked away, leaving the weasel to himself. Only then did the older wolf wipe his face with part of his cloak. Most of the party at this point had gone to other duties, gone to rest, or otherwise occupied themselves. Isenulf however was still somewhat perplexed, and curious, enough so to confront the party leader directly.

"I don't know why you even bother with him, Rukal." Isenulf admitted, his voice dripping with scorn for the weasel, "He is a weak fool."

"Even a fool posses knowledge, young Isenulf." Rukal reminded him, "What separates a fool from a clever beast is how the knowledge is used. Think on it."

"Hmph, fine." the weasel captain's little voice scoffed, as if he merely deigned to capitulate, "What's yer bloody question then?"

Rukal gave Isenulf a small, knowing smile, then turned around and headed back toward the dangling helpless creature, asking, "What do you know of the lands that lie to the south?"

* * *

Author Notes:

Well, it seems my theme recently is a load of firsts, this being my first foray into Redwall. I'd love to know what you guys think of it, since it is kind of untested territory as far as I'm concerned. Any feedback you can give would be helpful

For those who've already read my other work and are maybe wondering why I'm not working on those, I'll still be working on other stories as time an inspiration allow. I promise I'm not abandoning things!

Until later,  
chaos_Leader.


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